


That Walks By Himself

by hafren



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafren/pseuds/hafren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake, waiting to move into his new base at Gauda Prime, meets a cat. Possibly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Walks By Himself

It was outside the window again. He glanced up from the screen and there it sat on the sill, watching him. Its eyes were deep gold, startling against the black of its fur, and their stare never faltered.

"Go on with you," he muttered, and made shooing gestures in its direction. It didn't move.

Absorbed in his work, he didn't hear the woman come in; it was the smell of food that caught his attention.

"Leave that now," she said, setting down plates. "Time to eat."

"All right, in a minute… Klyn, what's that doing here?"

She followed his gaze. "It's a cat."

"I know," he said patiently, "I've seen them in books. What's it doing here?"

"Well, it's a cat; they go where they like. Don't they have them on Earth any more?"

"The only animals I ever saw on Earth were in intensive farming units or research labs. I know there are still wild ones on some planets, but that doesn't look wild."

"No, but he's very wary. He's been hanging around for hours and I still can't get close enough to stroke him."

She lit a lamp; the room glowed, looking suddenly warm and welcoming. The cat jumped down.

She laughed. "He'll come to the door now, watch." Taking some meat from her plate, she went into the hall. "Here, puss".

Blake followed, and saw she'd left the outer door ajar. The animal peered round it. She put the scraps on the floor and retreated into the room, gesturing Blake with her. "He won't come while we're there."

After a few moments she looked round the door again and chuckled softly. "Look at that". The animal had come inside to the meat. Blake saw how its pink tongue savoured the scraps, how daintily its white teeth picked them up. As if it knew he was there, it looked up and stared calmly at him.

By the next day she had coaxed it further inside and was even managing to caress its dark head with one finger now and again. He looked on, bemused. "You know, I'm as broad-minded as the next man, but isn't that a bit odd? It's an animal. A different species."

"Didn't you ever have a pet?"

"Met a man who kept fish, once… and he was fairly odd." Blake had never been wholly at ease even with Cally's moondisc, having grown up where pet-keeping was rare enough to be a sign of peculiarity or decadence. The cat suddenly tired of caresses and struck out, leaving blood welling from four gashes on Klyn's hand. Blake gasped.  
"Why bother?"

She smiled, unperturbed. "He's a challenge." Blake gazed, fascinated, at the blood; he couldn't believe how fast it had struck, how ferociously. He looked deep into its golden eyes, calm now.Yes, you could do that to me, couldn't you? The lustrous fur glinted in the lamplight; he found himself longing to touch it.

With the contrariness of its kind, the cat seemed to attach itself not to the human who fed and courted it but to the one who ignored it. If Blake was working at his desk, it would sit for hours, unnerving him with its stare; if he moved about the house it would saunter ahead of him, walking, he had to admit, with improbable grace. Once, working late, he felt a gentle pressure against his leg. He looked down in surprise. It rubbed its head against him, just briefly, and he felt ridiculously pleased. Reaching down, he touched it gingerly. Its fur was incredibly soft and thick; he found himself stroking it over and over. It was making an odd rumbling noise in its throat; listening, he felt it dissolve the slight headache he'd had all day.

"What do you want, then?" he asked, and immediately felt silly for talking as if it understood. But when it turned its face up, he could have sworn it was trying to tell him something. Its gaze was intense, urgent, not intimidating exactly but troubling. "What is it?" he said gently, and made to lift it in his arms. At once it shied out of reach, lifting its lip in a warning hiss. He went back to his work, and his head began to throb again.

"That cat's uncanny," he observed to Klyn, a few days later. "It's intelligent."

"Cats are."

"No, not like this. It thinks like a human. And it knows how I'm feeling. Whenever I've got a headache, it comes close and lets me pet it."

"You're getting headaches again?"

He sighed. "I can't stop wondering whether I did the right thing on Jevron. Staging my death took the heat off me, yes. But my name was worth something to the revolution. I don't mean to be immodest but it inspired people. All I've done now is give them cause to despair."

"Breathing space. We needed it. I thought we agreed all this - set up a base first, get some real strength together. Then you can tell the world who you are."

"I know, I know."

"The base'll be ready soon, and we can move in and get started. Think about that."

He smiled gratefully, but his face creased with pain.

It took him a long time to get to sleep that night, and when he did, he found himself in a troubling dream. He sensed a great grief and longing, not his but reaching out to him, seeking him, so solid it almost had a shape he could see, but he never quite did. And then there was someone he had to meet, he didn't know who, but they both had to be in a certain place at a certain time. But something always got in the way; the time was wrong, or the place, or he didn't know how to recognise whoever it was. And there was danger somewhere, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from or what to do about it… He woke to the sound of his own moans, in a tangle of bedclothes, and lay shivering.

With the lightest of treads, the cat jumped up on the bed. It picked its way delicately up to his face, lay down and licked it. The little pink tongue, surprisingly rough, rasped pleasantly along his cheek. He buried his hands, then his face, in dense, dark hair. It was making that soft comforting sound in its throat again and he wanted to get as close as possible to it, to feel it vibrate through his own body.

The hairs flew up to his stroking hand, and he realised they were giving off electricity. His fingers tingled. "You're full of surprises, you," he whispered to it, fondling its chin. Instantly it bit, but seemed to think better of it; his finger was enclosed in its sharp teeth but it held off, barely grazing him; then freed him and licked his hand.

"It's all right," he said softly. "You're just nervous, aren't you? I won't hurt you." He laid a hand on its head and it pushed up against the palm, moving and twisting to make him stroke its ears. He drew it close to his body, its warmth, its softness, that wonderful, soothing vibration. "I'm lonely," he murmured into its fur, and realised he had been for years. It laid its head against his cheek and arched against him as if it wanted them to merge into one. His finger still stung from its bite. Dangerous, he thought dozily, beautiful and dangerous. Comforted, he drifted into sleep.

Next morning he was not surprised to find it gone. He'd slept late. Downstairs he heard voices, a door closing. He wandered down to the kitchen, where Klyn was making coffee.

"You must have slept well," she said.

"Yes, I feel fine. Did I hear someone?"

"Deva. He came to say the base is ready, at last; we can move in any time. Today, if you like."

"Oh, that's good. That's good. I can't wait."

Klyn went to the door and called. Following her eyes, he saw the cat on a nearby wall.

"He won't come in this morning."

Blake stepped outside, walked towards it. At once it raised its lip over its teeth and lifted a paw, claws out, casually menacing. He stopped, and the paw lowered. Stay where you are. No further.

"Do you think he'd come with us to the base?"

Klyn raised an eyebrow. "Not underground. They don't like feeling shut in. I thought you didn't like him?"

"I wouldn't want him to starve."

"Oh, that one can look after himself."

But when they were all packed and ready to leave, he went back for a last look. It hadn't moved. In full sunlight, he saw that its fur wasn't quite as black as he'd thought; there were warm glints of brown in it.

"Beautiful," he said softly. "I wish I could speak your language. Goodbye now; I don't suppose I'll see you again."

And the deep eyes sent him one more unreadable message as he turned away.

_ I am your follower; where you go, I will come, in the end._


End file.
